


The lost

by Triyune



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Arkham Asylum, Despair, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Mental Coercion, Moral Ambiguity, Non-Consensual, Power Imbalance, Psychological Trauma, Sadism, psychiatry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21698011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triyune/pseuds/Triyune
Summary: The Arkham Asylum of Gotham city is facing a bright future. Its inmates don't, finding themselves to be a pawn in the hands of the powerful.
Kudos: 10





	The lost

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to every patient in this world.

Next to me, the Joker was getting fidgety. It was the third time I had him in my car on the way to the asylum. It had been a rough night again but I was glad that I had been able to capture him. The world would be safe for another one or two months. Three, if we were lucky.  
I turned my head to glance at him. His body was tied to the seat, his hands cuffed behind it so there was no chance he could do anything stupid.

“...and I’m not going to applaud. I’ve heard that one already and it is a boring one...”

He had been babbling since we left. Well, not exactly. For the first two minutes, he had recovered from the blows and when he finally had swallowed all that blood just to throw it up a few moments later, right on the Batcar dashboard, accidentally, so I think, he was in the mood for talking drivel again. I was thinking about gagging him by now.

“You have no idea how hard life can be. It’s just a bad joke, made worse by people like you. Do you have the _slightest_ idea what it’s like there? Oh you don’t, you sit in your castle with wine and chocolates and haggis left from the lunch...”

“Can you just shut up? You know that it’s no use.”

And I knew that that was of no use.  
It was dark around us and there was nothing I could see but the street in front of me. A boring ride but it was necessary. A long, long road to the asylum so anyone escaping it and fleeing from there would be picked up soon enough. The dark shadows of trees flew past us as he kept on muttering. When we passed the first gate his mood changed.

“You poor imbecile!!! If you don’t stop the car I will just blow it up and you _know_ that I can! Stop this fucking shit, you’re killing me, you stupid asshole!!!”

Finally sick of his attempts to stop me from the inevitable, I stopped the car and parked it at the side of the street.

“Oh did you finally notice that you’re committing a mistake, you unbelievably stupid-“

I wound the piece of cloth around his head, making sure that it went between his lips so that he wouldn’t be able to speak another word. Then I made a knot behind his head, sighed and started the engine again. He made one last attempt at yelling something, then he took a deep breath and surrendered himself. For the rest of the drive, I didn’t hear anything from him anymore and he didn’t move anymore.

When we arrived at the Arkham asylum I took another look at him, fearing that he might have choked on more vomit. But he was alive, silently looking at what lay in front of him.  
I got out of the car and informed the head about him. Three minutes later, half of the staff of the asylum followed me outside. One of them opened the door and pulled at his jacket to bare his shoulder. With muffled sounds, he tried to move out of that grip but the ties were too tight. Another one approached him and gave him a shot into his upper arm. His screams grew louder, more desperate until he went silent. His eyes were half-closed and I knew that it was time to remove the gag.

A moan floated through the air towards me. Ignoring that, I untied him and three men lifted him up to put him on a gurney where they secured his hands and feet.

“Now that we got him, may I introduce our new students to you? Mr. Bodds, clinical psychology, Mr. Sanchez, assistant of Mr. Bodds, Mr. Combtrain, psychopathology, Mr. Eunerits, psychopharmacology, Mr. Rap-“

I wasn’t in the mood for that right now. Usually, the head and I went to his bureau where we had a short talk and then I would leave again but tonight, he seemed to be in a very joyful mood when I just wasn’t. Without looking at him for a second time, I followed the three men inside, having a quarter of the staff of the asylum following me. I felt a little troubled and didn’t need that blathering about new students right now.

“Rapture! Psychopharmacology as well, Mr. Soner, assistant of-“

“Nice to meet you all,” I snarled and tried to keep pace with the three men. That building made me feel uncomfortable, always. I did not have a special relationship with that kind of thing and though, it didn’t leave me cold. I had often visited people there, either in order to get some more information from them or to check up on them, but always, always that place left me insecure and doubting.

As I went down the cold corridors, walls made of stone, I wondered whether that look would serve to cheer them up or support their healing at all. But they were the heads, they knew what they were doing. Maybe it was the only possible and practicable material. The gurney was pushed inside a room and I followed them, still a bunch of chatting and laughing people following me. Various instruments and machines were lined up there, two sinks, cupboards, just the usual stuff of a psychiatric care room.

When I became aware of where I just had landed I wanted to leave, feeling a bit embarrassed, but the room had filled up with curious students, anticipating a great moment. It wasn’t worth the effort so I stayed. I had not witnessed that part of it yet anyway and maybe I could learn a thing or two even.  
The head made his way through the crowd and stopped at the top of the scene. I was sure that usually, he wasn’t present during that process but that he just threw his weight around now because I was there as well.

“Mr. Rap, please prepare an ata shot.”

He pulled at the cuffs, which unsettled some of the new students.

“A what?”

Laughter.  
Except for two people.

“How long have you been with us now?”

“Two weeks, Sir.”

“Alright then. Ata RACTIC.”

“Oh yes, Sir, yes!”

He hurried to the sideboard, then turned around again.

“Where exactly is it?”

“Oh come on,” an older one sighed and helped him out.

Finally, the young one filled a syringe while being closely watched by the older one. I watched him in disbelief. When he was done he edged himself through the spectators and started unbuttoning the shirt of a man who was drooling on his collarbone already. When he realized what was going to happen to him in a moment he turned his head and checked the situation. When he saw the syringe lying next to him he flexed his fingers and some uncoordinated jerks followed until he finally managed to pronounce a “No”.

The staff around me, students, assistants, professors, researchers, I had the feeling that even the housecleaner had gathered here to view the rare spectacle, were just in the middle of an animated conversation, debating on the effects of some new compounds, the perfect amperage for a light stimulation of the brain and the even more perfect amperage for the treatment of schizophrenia, anorexia, borderline and various other disorders, when he looked at me. I blinked. Desperate eyes searched for help; green eyes with dilated pupils. For a moment, I felt a horrible kind of pain flashing down my leg. It was unsettling so I just concentrate on the new student trying to find the right spot for the injection, just to find that I couldn’t bear the look.

“NO! A bit more right, there!” one of them said and pointed at some spot in the crook of his arm.

“Oh goddarnit, Rap!”

He clearly had missed the vein, but he had noticed his mistake and pulled the needle out.

“Please, no...”

“And I tell you, when I gave him that stuff, he went crazy! It was an F29, awesome! I recorded it, you can come to my place in the evening and we’ll watch it...”

I cleared my throat and watched the head taking the syringe from those shaking student hands.

“Considering his dress and the way he talks and behaves...a hard one. PTSD?”

“We don’t know his background. I’d rather say-“

The head disinfected the spot in the crook and explained that even if he was the Joker, it needed to be disinfected, otherwise he could sue them. 

“Definitely F51.”

Both men burst into laughter.

“Please don’t,” he pronounced with great difficulties when the head was done rubbing his arm numb.

“I put on that mask after the treatment and you know what he said? He said ‘Anne, is that you?’ and I said ‘Yes, darling!’ He believed that I was his wife! I kept that mask, you can test it out yourself if you like, it’s just in my cupboard, on the...”

“F22. I mean look at him. The black, the animal he chose. And F42.”

“One. I bet he thinks that if he doesn’t do it people will die.”

“I know that you are talking about me, you F72,” I roared while turning around to face them.

“Please...”

The desperate repetition of those two words, the joyful, gay atmosphere around me, the arrogance, disrespectfulness, dilettantism, the biting smell of alcohol and disinfectant together with ether and horrible memories of pain, the idea that he couldn’t defend himself against that unnecessary act...

“Don’t...”

I had to pull myself together to keep my mouth shut. I was a civilian, knowing a bit about these things, but otherwise not qualified to have an opinion about the proceedings.  
The head ended the drama by dealing him the shot. A few moments later, his body went slack and his eyes fluttered. I took a deep breath and felt my knees getting weak. That wasn’t how I had imagined it. Somehow, it just wasn’t. On the other hand, I didn’t know what I had expected anyway.

“Jensson, will you continue?”

“Yes, Sir. By the way, it's Jenssen, Sir.”

A men approached the body on the gurney.

“PTSD for sure,” I heard it whispering behind me.

Sighing, I considered leaving. Young yuppies, and our fate was in their hands. It was depressing.  
Clenching my teeth, I watched the young man taking the jacket and shirt away. When he started unbuttoning his pants I shifted from one foot to the other. What had I thought...?  
He pulled them down and bared his underpants. Shoes and socks fell to the floor. It was easy to undress him since he didn’t struggle against it. His briefs left his legs and I looked away. 

When I heard a noise I looked up again. They were working on the cuffs, removing them so they could turn him on his stomach. Another man joined the two and started shaving his head while the young one put on gloves, spread his ass cheeks and bluntly pushed two fingers in. A gasp came from the top of the gurney. The student moved his fingers around, ignoring that, and pushed them in even further.  
Green hair fell to the floor. Slowly, like in slow motion, the green sailed through the air. Like feathers. I wasn’t sure about our roles anymore.

The man who was fingering him started worrying me. The look on his face gave me the creeps; he seemed to take pleasure in having him at his mercy. I tried to deny it and focus on the talks around me again.

“I’ve seen him naked recently, oh you don’t wanna see _that_. It’s not just Two-Face, no way you can imagine, it’s like his body is-“

“Split tongue. Can you believe it? She split her tongue with the scissors just when I was in charge and she claimed that the voices made her do it. I told her that I would show her about more voices and-“

“Jenssen!”

The man jerked and turned around, his fingers still buried in his ass.

“Yes?”

“Stop that! We’re not here to give his prostate a deluxe treatment, we just want to see whether he’s hiding something there! Quit messin’ around!”

“Of course. I just wasn’t sure since I felt something...”

“Uuuhuu, Jenssen, you dirty little boy,” one of them commented the abuse and earned himself a round of laughter.

“Shut up, Timothy!”

Short, green fluff covered his head. I swallowed. I had never seen him like that before. It was disconcerting.  
The body was turned around again and I couldn’t but search for his eyes. They stared holes into the air, empty. Completely empty.  
The man put the shaver away and pushed the young one aside. He took his penis and pulled back the prepuce.

“Nothing,” he said without any emotion in his voice and then went to the sink to wash his hands.

“Alright then. Did you note that down? Good. Give him the wash now and take a blood sample. And we leave. That was enough for today. And you, Rapture, look that up, ataractic, and for all I care, test it, you know where it is now.”

“Oh yeah baby,” the young man crooned and left with the others.

“Mr...Batman? The formalities.”

“I will join you later if you don’t mind.”

‘The formalities’ consisted of a bottle of champagne, celebrating the capture of the Joker (yet again). That could wait. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to leave him alone yet. I was shocked by their behaviour and by the connivance of the head and senior professors. Students passed me as they left, dealing me mischievous looks. A hoard of yuppie imps. The older ones left the room without looking at me at all; they were clinical and didn’t care.  
Finally, me, two men and him were left. One of them took a bucket and filled it with water while the other poured some orange liquid into it.

“Please take a step back,” one of them commented and I did as they had told me.

A generous amount was poured over his body. I doubted that the water was warm. With a scrubber, they worked on his skin, cleaning it bit by bit. They did that with everyone, no matter whether they smelt of roses or shit. I crossed my arms and held my breath; the mixture had an awful smell. His leg jerked as one of them tried to scrape invisible dirt away from the inner side of his thigh. More water hit his stomach and I heard him gasping.

“You got some plans for tonight, Mel?”

The other one, busy with tormenting his chest, sniffed and replied sourly: “Yeah, changing Croc’s nappies.”

“Oh no, you got the shit end of the stick this week, eh?”

“Oh shut up,” he groused back and scrubbed a little harder which drew another gasp from him.

“Seems like he’s waking up. Bastard always digests that within 30 minutes, you gotta watch out.”

“How about another shot?”

“I’m in.”

One of them left for preparing another one.

“I don’t think that is necessary,” I commented calmly. I had not managed to keep my mouth shut. Inside, I was fighting unbearable anger, discomfort and embarrassment, but showing them about it was of no use.  
He turned around at my words. Both looked up at me.

“Oh yeah? We do.”

And that was the end of our discussion. The sedative was injected into his upper arm and both went back to scrubbing his skin. When they had finished his arms they paused. One of them took a packet of cigarettes out of his coat and lit one while the other took the syringe he had used before and rammed it into his brachial vein. He filled it with his blood, then removed it. Blood seeped from the punctuated vein. At the best, it would just turn into a minor colourful bruise; at the worst, the disinfective agent would get into his bloodstream and cause an inflammation. Their carelessness drove me mad. 

He took the syringe and left the room with it. In the meantime, the other smoked his cigarette while the body in front of him barely showed any signs of life anymore. Only his ribcage was moving slightly. At that moment, I would have preferred him to threaten me with a knife or playfully press his thumb against the trigger button of the detonator. One stupid quote, just one of those which annoyed me to no ends. A hearty laugh. I never would have thought that one day I was going to miss any of that but tonight, I wished it was different.

The man came back, took the cigarette from the other man, took one last drag and then threw it into the bucket. Now the rest of its content was poured over his face and I shuddered. He made a wretched attempt at coughing, but it didn’t seem to help. Gurgling sounds came from his mouth when they scrubbed his shaved head. I couldn’t just stand by any longer. Furiously, I went to the table and turned him on his side so the water could flow from his mouth. That left both of them pretty unimpressed and they continued their work without any comment.

“One of those do-gooders, ain’t ya,” one of them finally said with a voice full of scorn.

I licked my lips and took another step back to make a contribution to the de-escalation of the situation. It was a different world with different rules. Out there, I chased criminals who killed people and occasionally, I beat the shit out of them until they finally complied and in here, I winced at seeing these criminals being mistreated. Was it justified? I knew when it was necessary to give them a beating, yet, I would complain at the staff of the ward giving them a rough treatment. 

They were done by now and stored the bucket and scrubber away, then they cuffed him again, shot a glance at me and left.  
It was totally silent. His skin shimmered in the dim light, wet and sore. That man had killed more than a dozen people by now. And though, I felt pity. I knew that that was my weak spot. Whenever I had the feeling that injustice was done to someone I felt compelled to do something against it. It didn’t matter who it was, how guilty and depraved that subject was; I just couldn’t watch it.  
And in the end, violence would only beget violence.

I took some steps towards him. He didn’t move. I wished I would see him smiling or even grinning, but I didn’t. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was asleep. Hesitantly and damnably curious, I nudged his arm, but nothing happened.  
Instantly, I considered freeing him and taking him with me. I took a look at the door. No one there. But the staff had seen me and they would certainly tell the police that I had been the last one who had been in that room with him. Could I accept the press writing that Batman had helped the Joker escape?

Just then, the two came back. Without looking at me, they removed the cuffs and dressed him. They had difficulties getting his legs into the trousers. He seemed like a doll, spineless and indifferent. I was sure that he was perceiving everything around him, hearing every word and feeling every touch, yet, unable to react to it.  
When they were done they brought him to his cell and dumped him on the bed. His clothes were wet since his skin had not dried yet. They locked the room and disappeared. 

When I passed the head’s bureau he called for me, but I didn’t stop. He left it and called for me again, inviting me in, but I declined it with the excuse that it had been a rough night and I would need to go home and to sleep. I didn’t want to see or hear anything of that anymore. I had played with the thought of asking him what they did here to help them, but I feared that I would only get to hear what I didn’t approve of. Ice baths, experimental psychology, electroconvulsive therapy, insulin shocks and the padded room, together with loads of tranquilizers and soporifics.

Dejected and disillusioned, I went down the hallway. Seeing the door, my mind wandered to his cell. He was a nutcase, there were many horror stories to tell about him, I was sure. He was a brutal, merciless, egocentric psychopath.  
Ruthless.  
Sadistic.  
Inherently evil.

As many adjectives I tried to find to describe his mindset, I still felt pity for him. I left the building and felt a lump in my throat. Tired, exhausted and with gloomy thoughts, I left the place, heading for my home. It would be warm there, the fire would still heat the room. Candles would shine through the darkness and my bed would be soft and cosy. He was lying on a piece of hard wood, a blanket full of lice, dressed in wet clothes with a room temperature of a fridge. Unable to move. Unable to talk.

It was one of those situations when I knew that something was wrong but when I just couldn’t come up with an alternative. It was the desperate and painful knowledge that I would have to resign myself to it. I felt helpless, as helpless as he probably was feeling right now. Admitted, I didn’t have to stand people rummaging around in my ass and bathing me in cold water, yet, I felt so helpless. 

All those things were justified, so they thought, because he was a madman who had killed people. I simply considered it inhumane. In the end, he was a man like me and them.  
And then again, he wasn’t. I had seen him suffering. And it had shaken my world. To see that powerful, strong-minded man suffer.

Sometimes, I wished I could save everyone.

 _Everyone_.

_______


End file.
